Presence 78

willow warbler
yesterday’s rain
still holds the light

— John Barlow

drifting
into the conversation
a maple leaf

— Mary McCormack

snow
things whisper
their shape

— Michael Baeyens

my brother
wandering
on the slipway
a seal flipping
into night

— Helen Gaen

chewing
a dandelion head
I rewild
the bitter parts
of myself

— Jenny Polstra

MeMaw’s Kitchen

the front porch
fluttering with petals
hydrangea wind

The whole family aunts and uncles and distant cousins raised in the house during hard times gather round the long table plumes of smoke clouding half-truths and too much unfinished her kitchen her pride her millstone dishes with scents unfurling the squeeze of lemons cooked with butter flour sugar and slices of baked ham hocks in all-day green beans macaroni dense with cheese cornbread studded with bits of bacon like confetti fill our bellies the mystery of talk of war and lost uncles echo the past and though my father denies my mother insists we leave it all behind to a faraway place broken ties the lines on grandmother’s face worn down with so many mouths to feed and babies in the big bed crowning the family room where they sleep alone our MeMaw and PawPaw yearning for their scattered children grandchildren great-grandchildren leaving an empty kitchen and the ancient bed an altar of longing woven into threadbare sheets.

thinning mist
dry leaves tumble
down the back steps

— Renée Owen